The Nature of Ghosts
by Tamatha-Rocket
Summary: To watch your life from the outside looking in...How does one exist with such a cold presepctive? I don't believe there is a way to live normally like this, however I do believe that perhaps one can learn to exist as a ghost with the right teachers.


The heart in all of its existence was always a burden to someone like me. Relentlessly it pounds away in the chest, hurting at loss and mourning death. When it wasn't weeping its tears it would be beating for the last time, cutting short a life that had barely found its footing.

My heart however has cried all it can. Tears wasted as a baby, wasted as a boy; wasted… They are dried up and the well is empty. The pain that came with these tears are no longer a problem to me as long as I don't cry. When I kill now…I feel no sense of human connection, of touch or feel. It's unnecessary to feel like crying when you kill someone because two seconds later you have to do it again. Then the next day and the day after that months after that and perhaps years after that…that is what I'll be doing again. There is nothing there to hurt me anymore. To the war, I was its perfect child, its perfect solider boy. Cold and morally detached, this world had squeezed my soul dry and left that limp rung out thing for me to carry. To carry this soul is to carry nothing at all, no burden of life, no weight. Faster stronger and all around more flexible.

That is what you would think. I've left myself somewhere cold. Somewhere that is far from normal, far from light. It's cold where my humanity is and even though I reach for it, he won't reach back. That small child that I gave up won't reach out his hand to me anymore. He's gone beyond my reach and I'm afraid that if I try anymore I'll fall completely. This perfect solider would never be able to come back in touch with morals or humans. If only I could reach that boy…

He sits there with his knees to his chest, watching this single TV screen. Its picture is black and white and the picture is unclear. He watches the screen carefully and as he watches he knows that something is going to change. Something is going to change and it will be life changing. He can tell this cause yet another person is going to die. This movie is pushed along by death. With every death comes a change and so his life is governed by this rule. It's not a misfortune that follows him but something else, something more real and ugly.

And then there I am, standing behind him in a cold silence, realizing and rationalizing everything, taking out the morals, the religion and symbolism out of it all to better suit this person that I've become. This channel would have remained unchanged and I would have remained that cold bystander of my own life if it weren't for the people I've found. I would have continued to think of myself as this cold and merciless person watching his life pass before him with the eyes of a zombie with glass bottle eyes. What did I have to go to? I had nothing to consider a life…

No home…no family…no humanity. I was a little less then human, just enough morality to be consider a hallow husk. My existence seemed a mistake I was forced to live through. I lived by retreating, lived behind masks and guises to fit a situation. I was a phantom actor, floating in and out of existence when it suited someone's need.

I just wasn't a real human, but I remain here of my own free will only because I have found a few connections to this 'fake' existence. They chained me to this existence make it worth staying. First its Catherine. She revealed to me that I have a humane side and first made it known to me that my death would be a horrid thing. There would be people left behind if I died. I'd actually leave something behind if I died. This woke up my humanity. With her tears I began to doubt, for once, the reason for my death.

Next was Quatre. He opened me up to the humanity of others. The boy's selfless naivety opened me up to the understanding of those who fought, something I never once considered. Behind the metal breast were blank faces. No one's child, no one's husband or fiancé. After meeting Quatre I was able to understand and fight harder for this ideal of peace. I wanted this bloodshed to end for their sakes, if not for my own in some way.

Lastly is Heero. As awkward as it seems, Heero reminds me of my humanity. He keeps me rooted to this world. In him I share a link, a common bond to him. Our lives were taken from us and we have tried to fit back into a changing society. This society will someday be at peace and for us, children taken and raped of our humanity; there will be no peace. We will be at war with ourselves because we are unable to be at peace. We were bred for war, made to take without ever giving but once this peace has come we won't be needed. He reminds me of this as I watch his silent struggle to control and rehabilitate himself. I used to be a man ready for death, prepared and content with it's provided release. It seems to me Heero may have been ready as well. We can see this in each other and I think because of this ability, because we can watch each other grow we are grounded to life. This is why with Heero; I feel an uncontrollable emotion and affinity to this man.

These three people in particular keep me grounded and leveled. They keep me living, and going and for this I thank them. Now when I see that boy watching that TV, that life I can get closer to him. I'm finally able to get closer to him and one day I will be able to touch him. I will be able to hold him close and tell him to come back to me.

I'll finally get my humanity back from the depth. Finally I'll be able to see the world without my glass bottle eyes of green and see them with the eyes of a human man. Someone…real. Trowa's my name now and I shall keep that name, as it is I.

One day…

One day…

One day…

I'll be able to live again…


End file.
